


Driving Passenger

by LynnLarsh



Series: Domesticity is Boring [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Annoying Jamie Is Annoying, Explicit Language, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2267244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LynnLarsh/pseuds/LynnLarsh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seb breathes in through her nose and tries again. "I said, I need you to pick me up. I can't," Oh god, she hates this. Fucking loathes what she's about to say. "I can't exactly drive myself right now so."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driving Passenger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kali_asleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kali_asleep/gifts).



> Another ficlet. Just couldn't shake the idea that Seb would have such a particular weakness. Something the two of us certainly share.
> 
> As always, all of my thanks and more go to kali_asleep. This fic is unbeta'd so be gentle with me. But not too gentle.

It's not so much a personal flaw (weakness more like) as it is a pet peeve, though it doesn't necessarily come up enough to be argued. It isn't even something she recognized as such until she was fifteen and trapped playing back seat driver to an idiot with three eyebrow piercings and a complete disregard for efficiency. What should have been a ten minute fleeing of the scene tops ended up taking forty-five with two almost collisions (brought on by a particularly heated argument), one black eye (not hers), a busted lip (hers, but only because she was a bit distracted by the oncoming traffic), and a brand new, if not a bit banged up, Nissan Altima (she figured it was only fair to relieve him of the burden considering he apparently had no idea how to properly drive the thing anyway). 

Ever since that night, Sebina Moran made it a point to always be the one behind the wheel, even went so far once as to put a gun to a man's head until he backed away from the driver's side door. It was never much of a problem after that; no one even really questioned her severe dislike of cabs (this was London after all). 

In fact, it doesn't come back up again until many years, a poorly placed bullet wound, and a reluctant phone call later. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't catch that. Come again?" Jamie's voice is laced with that familiar candor of two parts bored, one part amused, and one part something unidentifiable, a lilt that borders on annoyed but usually ends up resulting in someone's death. Not that those two things aren't mutually exclusive. 

Seb tucks herself further into the space between two shipping crates. The way her legs are folded beneath her is sending shock waves of agony from her ankle, up her spine, to a throbbing point right between her eyes. She's familiar enough with bullet wounds to know the damage isn't fatal, but it also hurts enough to leave her severely lacking in anything resembling patience. 

"I said," Seb hisses, keeping her tone low and half whispered; the voices of the shooters are far enough away that she's hardly concerned, but they're still close enough for the conversation to be mostly discernible. Something about keeping an eye out as well as some rather colorful words about her gender. Original. Seb breathes in through her nose and tries again. "I said, I need you to pick me up. I can't," Oh god, she hates this. Fucking loathes what she's about to say. "I can't exactly drive myself right now so." 

"Oh that?" Jamie giggles, fucking _giggles_ , and then adds, "I'm already on my way, Tigerlily. Just try not to disappoint me any further before I get there, alright?" The line goes dead before Seb can even begin to mention the fact that there were twice as many men as her Intel had warned, and that it was hardly her fault she'd been made when she keeps telling Jamie time and time again that she doesn't do undercover. She's an assassin, not a fucking thespian. 

True to form, Jamie shows up no more than five minutes after the call by way of a candy apple red Porsche speeding into the space across from Seb’s hiding spot. She doesn't bother wondering how Jamie knew her exact location. Shit like that stopped being surprising a long time ago. 

What is surprising, however, is the fact that it's not one of Jamie's many replaceable drivers (the longest anyone seems to last before Seb's sent out on "clean up duty" is about a week and a half) staring at her from behind the steering wheel. 

"Well?" Jamie scoffs through a rather pointed eye-roll when Seb is too stunned to climb through the open passenger side door right away. "If you don't scrape your jaw off the floor and get in in the next two seconds, I'm shooting you in the other ankle and leaving you here to rot." 

As if to emphasize the truth behind her threat, the shooters choose that moment to notice the car. Jamie revs the engine for added effect and it's like a poorly written get-away scene in a bad action movie. But Seb bites her tongue anyway, wrenches herself off the dirty, cement floor and into the car with a pained curse. The door isn't even properly closed before Jamie is tearing out of the shipping yard, nearly running over the shooters in the process. 

They dive out of the way just in time, and be it pain or residual surprise at this whole bizarre ordeal, but Seb can't help herself. "You missed." 

"Ha fucking ha," Jamie snorts, keeping her eyes firmly on the road. "Do you know how hard it is to get intestines out of a grill? Like trying to scrub bloodstains out of carpet with a toothbrush." She mumbles that last part almost to herself, as if it's a memory she hadn't meant to voice aloud. Seb wouldn't exactly be surprised; a bit commonplace at this point really. If Jamie had implied having to pick bone marrow out of her teeth, she probably wouldn't have been too shocked about that either. 

"Speaking of," Jamie adds, wrenching Seb back to the present. When Seb glances over at her, she's smirking, gaze occasionally flickering towards her out of the corner of her eye. "Try not to bleed on the upholstery, princess. This is a rental." 

And then they're driving in silence, Seb doing her best to keep pressure on the wound. The bullet is lodged just underneath her right calf, above her Achilles' tendon, but it's still doing it's damnedest to bleed her dry, already soaking through the strips of her shirt she managed to rip off for makeshift bandaging. Shouldn't be doing that for too much longer though, already clotting, just seriously fucking sore. And Seb’s car is still parked a block past the shipping yard, should probably torch the hell out of it once she's back on her feet. She was about due for a new one anyway, what with Jamie's turnaround on shit like that. 

Seb leans back, watches downtown London flash by outside her window. It's almost relaxing. Strangely pleasant. It's not long before old habits start to kick in, though. What with her throbbing ankle and the peaceful scenery, she'd almost forgotten. 

"You could have made that turn," she says almost lazily, words out of her mouth before she can stop herself. They're at an intersection, cars speeding by on a perpendicular stretch and Seb's abruptly tense and alert and trying very, very hard not to give herself away. But knowing Jamie, it's already too late. As if on cue, Jamie jolts forward into oncoming traffic, a symphony of honks and barely audible curses getting buried beneath their own screeching tires and Seb's choked off shout. "The fuck was that, Boss?!" 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jamie smiles her smile she reserves for petty revenge and not being sorry at all. "I thought you wanted me to make the turn." 

Oh, this is bad. Already off to a terrible start and going nowhere good. Even if her ankle wasn't the world's worst distraction, Seb is so fucked. So, so fucked. Because it hasn't come up for years, never really managed to be a problem since that one time when she was fifteen, but it's a pet-peeve (and maybe also a bit of a weakness, a personal failing) that she's never been strong enough to ignore. 

And as if set up solely to prove her right, the car in front of Jamie slows down a hair, a leisurely crawl just barely toeing the speed limit. Seb bites her tongue, takes a breath, wills her eyes to stay straight, stay forward, don't give in, distract yourself, stay- The car to their right falls back just enough to leave a perfectly Porsche-sized spot to merge into. Add that to the obvious stretch of open space available to them if they then proceed to merge back in front of the granny taking her sweet ass time in front of them, and suddenly it feels as though they're going eight km/h instead of eighty. 

"Hey... Boss?" Seb hears herself mutter on half-second delay. And she shouldn't, knows it's a bad idea, like opening the floodgates, but she's liable to start shooting out tires if they don't speed things up soon. "Um," Really shouldn't. Really, _really_ shouldn't. Stop. No, no, no. Come on. You're stronger than this. You've waited hours for the perfect kill shot, you can last a few extra minutes being stuck behind a fucking snail who might as well be going backwards for as slow as they're- Fuck it. "There's plenty of space to go around this bastard, you know." 

Seb can literally see the moment it registers, the very second Jamie takes notice and latches on to Seb's weakness like a vice. If she wasn't fucked before, she most certainly is now. Jamie grins, inches her foot a bit off the pedal and they slow down five full kilometers per hour. Seb bites her tongue and swallows a curse, resolutely stares out the passenger side window, tries not to add fuel to the fire. But then Jamie is clicking a button on the dash and turning up the volume and Seb can ignore most things, can feign indifference or some semblance of patience in almost any situation, but she never stood a fucking chance against Kesha. 

The name scrolls across the dash's screen for eight seconds (some agonizing track entailed Tik Tok, which tells Seb everything she will ever need to know), before any remaining restraint Seb can muster flies out the window. Literally in fact, considering Seb's almost involuntary response is to jab her finger into the CD eject button, remove the ear splitting crime against humanity, and hurl it out of the open window quick as you please. 

"I was listening to that," Jamie says far too casually and in no way upset, which puts Seb even further on edge. Anger she can deal with (angry people also tend to be less cautious and drive a bit faster but regardless) and an angry Jamie makes far more sense then a composed one. 

"No, you were torturing me with it," Seb growls by way of distraction, shifting in her seat. She's not stupid, knows she's pretty much baiting a wild animal here, but she's also never been one to take abuse. Especially of the sort that happens while on the road. She shifts her whole body forward a bit (ankle still throbbing, toes feel a bit cold, should probably get properly patched up soon) and proceeds to scroll rather quickly through the various radio stations within range. She eventually settles on an alternative rock station (the screen says, "Two for Tuesday: Best of Nine Inch Nails) and leans back into the seat. "If I'm going to be forced to sit here like I'm fucking useless, we're listening to something more palatable than Kesha." 

Jamie frowns. "I don't know which is more disconcerting. The fact that you consider this screeching abomination to be something "palatable," or that you believe your uselessness actually allows you any sort of authority over our listening choices." 

"Fine," Seb huffs and hits the off button on the sound system probably a bit harder than necessary, because she's already at her wits end and they're still a good twenty minutes out from the safe house. So when she leans back and petulantly crosses her arms over her chest, the silence feels almost like a relief. Which is why it's no surprise when two seconds later, Jamie starts humming. 

It doesn't take Seb long to recognize the tune. "Are you kidding me right now?" Seb groans before she can stop herself. "I turned Kesha off for a fucking reason, Boss." She can hear the plea in her voice, only just masked by her overwhelming frustration, but this ride is already too agonizing for her to care. "Can we just... I don't know. Enjoy the quiet or some shit?" 

"Touchy touchy," Jamie huffs right back, hands on two and ten as she sighs, finally going blessedly silent. For about five minutes. Seb doesn't even catch it at first. Or rather, has no idea what the words mean out of context. She knows it's a bad idea but she can't help herself, never could. Curiosity killed the cat and all that. 

"What did you say?" Seb mutters reluctantly after another tense silence. As expected, Jamie just smirks and says, "Nothing." And then a couple of minutes later, it happens again, this time a bit more clearly. 

"Yellow car," Jamie says offhandedly, casually, still smirking. Seb ignores her, knows she's just trying to rile her up. But it's working. So when Jamie happily mutters another, "Yellow car," barely a meter down the road, Seb cracks. 

"Why the _fuck_ do you keep saying 'yellow car'?" 

Jamie looks over at her like Seb's being unusually stupid, has the nerve to even look personally affronted by it. And when Seb doesn't automatically catch on, Jamie rolls her eyes, sighs even more dramatically than the first hundred times since they've been on this hellish excuse for a drive. 

"I'm playing Yellow Car," Jamie explains in a way that doesn't explain anything at all and simultaneously comes across as though Seb's an imbecile for not knowing about it to begin with. And honestly, it doesn't even matter what it is or how you play; Seb's always _hated_ car games. 

So rather than asking her to elaborate, Seb just growls, "Can we maybe try _not_ playing Yellow Car instead?" 

Jamie sighs, full bottom lip protruding in a rather impressive pout. "You're no fun..." She glances at Seb out of the corner of her eye again, a quick flicker of motion before her focus is persistently back on the road, almost cautiously so. Seb's torn between laughing and groaning when Jamie mutters a petulant, "Worst driving companion ever." 

"You don't pay me to be amicable company," Seb huffs right back and doesn't add, "Especially in the passenger seat," because that would be admitting too much. Though something about the way Jamie grins says she already knows. Seb's stopped assuming there's anything Jamie _doesn’t_ know, to be honest. 

"You're lucky I pay you at all with fuck ups like today." Jamie throws out, and it's a well-aimed jab, that. 

"Today wasn't my fault and you fucking know it," Seb hisses. Because her weaknesses aren't many (even if it seems like it today) but her biggest is how she feels about failure. A shadow left over from childhood familial abuse, no doubt. So the accusation stings more than it should, puts her on the defensive. Which, strangely enough, leaves her feeling more comfortable than she has the whole ride. 

This, the back and forth and the bickering and the insults meant to only partially wound and mostly irritate, this is familiar. This is where she and Jamie just... click. 

"It's not your fault that the Intel was corrupted," Jamie says matter-of-factly, hands still (strangely/interestingly/unnervingly) at ten and two. "The man responsible for that mess has been dealt with. It _is_ , however, your fault that you were unprepared enough to catch a stray bullet at all, let alone in the ankle. If I wanted a right hand that would be so easily incapacitated, I would take to kidnapping orphans again. At least _they’d_ be disposable. Not to mention more susceptible to manipulation. You've been dreadfully poor sport since you started picking up on my tells." 

Seb ignores the glossed-over reference to kidnapping (it was before her time... surely) in lieu of the more surprising confession. Jamie's implied Seb's role in her network multiple times, everything from pet to muscle to head hunter to assassin, but that's all it's ever been. Implication. This is the first time Jamie has ever, outright, called Seb her right hand. 

The thrill that rushes through her at the realization is terrifying and exciting and very, very hard to ignore. Luckily, as if timed, Jamie chooses that moment to give her another surprisingly effective distraction. It's not the text alert that grabs Seb’s attention (the first few notes of the Lacrimosa from Mozart's Requiem, Jamie had explained once -- disgustingly ironic) Seb is used to that by now; a criminal mastermind like Jamie is always on call. It's the way Jamie tries ineffectively to balance the apparently overwhelming task of reading and replying to said text message while still attempting to navigate the road. 

It's not Seb's biggest driving related annoyance by any means, but what with the way Jamie seems to be complete shite at it, Seb considers ignoring this one a lost cause. Especially as she nearly causes a six-car pileup by drifting two lanes when her eyes stay locked on the screen for too long. Heart in her throat, Seb manages to reach over and straighten the wheel quickly enough to avoid a proper collision (thank fuck for her good reflexes) but that doesn't mean they aren't assaulted by a melee of honks and shouts and screeching tires regardless. 

When Jamie finally looks back at the road, Seb lets go of the wheel and leans heavily into her seat, amazed to see Jamie’s fingers still tapping away at the keys. It takes Seb three deep breaths (inhale/exhale/contemplate murder) before she can get the words out without yelling. 

"Put it away, Boss." Seb tries for authoritative but not overstepping, demanding but mostly out of concern, not aggravation. It's a pathetic attempt. "You're going to get us both killed." 

"I've got a business to run, sweetheart," Jamie says, very nearly nonchalant were it not for the tension in her voice and the way her free hand grips just that much more tightly around the steering wheel. Seb would bet it's more out of defensiveness than any residual fear of her own mortality, though. It would take more than a car accident to kill the great Jamie Moriarty. "The world doesn't slam to a halt just because one lowly pion gets a boo-boo," Jamie adds flippantly. 

From right hand to lowly pion. That sounds more like it. Back to familiar at least, which is why Seb feels no remorse at all as she reaches over, plucks the mobile out of Jamie's hand, and promptly tosses that out of the window as well. 

Jamie _does_ look upset this time, possibly even a little surprised as she grits out, "That's coming out of your paycheck." 

"Don't most things?" Seb sniffs, and it feels a bit like she's a child sticking her tongue out, so she tacks, "Just trying to make you a law abiding citizen for once," onto the end of it for good measure. 

Interestingly (unnervingly) enough, Jamie doesn't seem to have a retort to that, not even a roll of her eyes. Which should have been Seb's first warning. The second should have been the way Jamie suddenly floors it as the traffic signal a good couple of car lengths away blinks from green to yellow. 

At first, Seb is relieved; it's about time Jamie starts being a little less cautious with her speed. But then Seb becomes wary. Because she knows Jamie, knows the games she likes to play. Which is why Seb is both completely unsurprised and still horrendously aggravated when, despite the ample time they have to clear the yellow light, Jamie slams on the breaks. 

The car behind them leans heavily on their horn. Two other cars pass them on either side just before the light blinks to red. Seb curses loudly (part out of the obvious, part from how the sudden halt jostles her ankle) and contemplates murder a bit more seriously. 

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Seb finally manages to get out once the desire to strangle her boss lessens. Though not by much. 

Jamie (don't punch her in the jaw don't punch her in the jaw don't punch her in the jaw) just shrugs, grinning again. "What's the matter, Sebina?" She practically purrs, voice a sing-song melody of scratches on Seb's last nerve. "I thought you wanted me to be a law abiding citizen. Can't have me running red lights, now can we?" 

And that's about all Seb can take. 

"Fuck it. Pull over," Seb growls, already gripping the handle of the door. She'll tuck and roll if she has to. "I'm walking the rest of the way." 

Jamie laughs, a gleeful and (seemingly) oblivious trill that does nothing to ease Seb's desire to fling herself out of a moving vehicle. And neither does Jamie’s mocking, "You'd barely make it two blocks, darling." Before Seb can properly retort, she also adds insult to injury (literally) with, "All that blood on your shirt would get you arrested for murder, and that ankle is hardly fit for a quick getaway. I'd really rather not have to break you out of jail just because you're too stubborn to let someone else drive." 

"I'll take my chances," Seb bites out, even manages to get the door open regardless of the fact that they're currently going a hundred and ten. It's only open for a moment, however, before Jamie's reaching across Seb to shut it, drastically swerving the car in the process. The combined motions are shocking enough that it's not until Jamie has righted the car (and herself) that Seb catches up enough to lash out (reflexes be damned when Jamie is involved, apparently). And by that point, Jamie is already talking again. 

"Aw come on, Sebby! Don’t be like that!" Jamie throws Seb an over exaggerated pout, though her eyes are shining. "And here I learned how to drive just for you..." 

It takes a second for that to properly register, and even then, all Seb can muster is a confused, "I’m sorry… What?" 

Jamie just shrugs. "Well, none of the drivers were available," (All dead then, gotta start conducting interviews again-wait. Not the time.) "So I brushed up on the basics and came straight away." She focuses almost too hard on the road in front of her now as she adds, "Couldn't leave you to rot over something as petty as a bum ankle, now could I?" 

And it's bizarre and twisted and dangerous as all hell, but for some reason, all Seb can really think about that is how surprisingly sweet it is. Insane and reckless and bloody made for each other, the both of them. Because that's Jamie all over, isn't it, and so Seb smiles, doesn't comment, even ignores the twinge in her gut when Jamie pumps the gas a little too enthusiastically around a sharp turn. 

It takes a few more miles before the thought even crosses her mind. 

"So, you don't have a license then." It's not a question; Jamie’s always despised stupid questions. 

"Nope." She replies anyway, flashes Seb a wide, almost manic grin before looking back to the road. And they've passed two cops already (not that they'd ever allow themselves to be pulled over, but Seb would really rather avoid the headache of escaping the Feds from the passenger seat), and she should be furious and aggravated but she's not. Instead, she's laughing like a madwoman before she can stop herself, gasping through impossible images of Jamie finally getting caught over something as pathetic as driving without a license. And Jamie must know what's going through her head, because her grin turns less put upon, a laugh of her own (not as much cackle as usual even) escaping past perfectly painted lips. 

The rest of the drive still isn't easy, and getting to the safe house is definitely a relief, but for a moment, Seb can't help wondering if maybe driving passenger to Jamie (world's biggest metaphor, that) wouldn't be so bad. 

Of course, at that moment, an ear splitting wail cuts the air like an explosion, the car's lights flaring and horn barking as if determined to alert the entire world to its presence. Jamie actually looks taken aback for a moment, before merely shrugging and tossing Seb the keys. 

"Fix that for me will you, Tigerlily?" Jamie shouts over the alarm, blowing Seb a kiss as she saunters inside. Seb groans, runs a hand over her face and clicks the car back into blessed silence. 

On second thought, she'd rather take the fucking tube for the rest of her life rather than let Jamie drive her anywhere again. Not metaphor, just fucking fact.


End file.
